


that one where dean comes clean about hell

by rei_c



Series: The Genderfluid(ity) 'Verse [15]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood Drinking, Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester and Feelings, Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester Use Their Words, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Female Sam Winchester, Gender or Sex Swap, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Torture, Past Torture, Post-Hell, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Season/Series 04, Self-Hatred, Torturer Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 04:41:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6839431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/rei_c
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn't want to tell her anything but he knows he has to. There have never been secrets between them and no matter how much he wants to bury this and forget everything, he can't. He won't.</p><p>(aka, the one where they tell each other what's been happening while they've been apart)</p>
            </blockquote>





	that one where dean comes clean about hell

"Her name is Abaddon," Sam says, quietly, as she picks at the loose threads on the comforter. "Knight of Hell."

Dean's frozen for a second. He figured Abs was a demon from the very second Sam put off telling him about it but he had no idea -- _none_ \-- that she was a freaking _knight_. "Jesus," he says, and Sam flinches a little, hearing it. "Sam, are you -- you just reacted to a name of God." 

Sam gives a bitter laugh, says, "You weren't that keen on it either, Dean. I noticed. Habit or -- some of the higher-up demons, they'd be able to get around Bobby's tests." 

It doesn't surprise Dean at all that Sam would ask -- nor does it surprise him, though it does concern him a little for her sense of self-preservation, that Sam would still have chosen to be locked with him in a shitty motel room even if he had been turned into a demon. "Habit, I think," Dean says. He takes a deep breath before saying, "Possibly a reaction if I'd been down there any longer." 

Sam looks up at him, the first time she's met his eyes since Dean brought up Abs and asked for an explanation. "I've been drinking demon blood, Dean," she says, eyes dropping back down to the bed. "I've been killing demons, torturing them, trying to open a gateway to hell and juice up enough to get down there and pull you out. There's nothing -- hell had to've been bad, I get that, but there's nothing you could've done worse than what I have." 

Dean reaches out, takes Sam's hand, traces the pads of his fingertips over the scars on her arm, those little remainders of something half suicidal, half homicidal, completely insane. "Don't be so quick to cut me a break," he says, just as quietly as Sam's been talking. "I mean, sure, the beginning of it wasn't exactly a picnic. But." He stops, has to, because the thought of telling Sam about Alastair, about stepping off the rack and picking up the knife, about how _good_ he was it and how right it felt, cutting into those souls, getting off on making them scream, the way Alastair taught him and trained him and spoke oh-so-temptingly to him, was so fucking _proud_ of him. 

"You don't have to say anything," Sam tells him. "You -- it was for me, everything that happened, so no matter what happened, you don't -- Dean, I don't care." 

"You should," Dean says. "You shouldn't be alone with me. You shouldn't -- I don't deserve to be here. I don't deserve to be out of hell at all." 

Sam slides her hand out of his; Dean thinks he's finally getting through to her but she crawls across the bed, curls up in his lap. She rests her head on his shoulder and one hand over his heart, and Dean has his arms around her without thinking about it. His hands ache for blood, for the feeling of knives and split skin beneath his touch; he grips Sam tight, ducks his head into her hair, breathes in her smell and breathes out the urge to torture.

"I was on a rack," Dean says. He doesn't want to do this, hates talking about himself and his emotions on a good day, but this is -- Sam needs to know what she's choosing to stay with when she'd be right to run as far away from him as possible. "For thirty years, I was chained to a rack and torn apart. Every day, they offered me a chance: stay on the rack and suffer or step off and hurt -- _torture_ \-- others the way I had been. The way I was. And I tried, Sam, I did, but it was just too -- I stepped off. After thirty years, I picked up a knife." 

Sam's shaking; Dean feels the cold wet of her tears start soaking through his shirt a moment later. 

"You shouldn't -- I don't deserve -- I hurt so many people, Sam," he says, and if he sounds like he's trapped in a distant horror, that's good. It doesn't feel distant. It feels like he's still there, a little, if he's lying to himself -- he's there every second, can still feel it, smell it, see it. "I --." 

"You were hurt, too," Sam tells him. "You think it didn't affect you just as much as them? You think it didn't kill you?" 

Dean clings to Sam, knows he doesn't deserve the absolution she's offering him but he's too weak to deny it. "I liked it," he whispers. "I liked it and I was good at it."

Sam leans up, puts her hands on Dean's cheeks, makes him look at her. When she speaks, her words are evenly spaced, firm, full of forgiveness. "I like -- liked -- the way demon blood makes me feel -- made me feel. The way it felt to pull on a door to hell and feel it _shake_ , Dean. To know that I was stronger than any demon, it made me reckless, sure, but it made me powerful. You think you're alone in this? You're not, Dean. And at least you weren't sucking blood out of demons." She snorts, adds, "At least you acted like a human and not some mindless _freak_." 

"Never really had much of a mind to lose," Dean says. He leans in, kisses Sam, mostly-chaste but meaningful, so very relieved that Sam's not running away from him and so fucking desperate to prove that he's not scared of her, either. She clings to him, probably feeling exactly the same way, and when they part, Dean presses his forehead against hers. "You and me, right, sweetheart? We're both fucked up, both absolutely insane." 

"But we're together," Sam says, finishing Dean's thought as if she's reading the words right from Dean's mind. "So you're gonna help me detox and I'm gonna make sure you don't order anything that needs a knife for a while, right?" 

Dean rolls his eyes, feels the tight noose around his heart loosen a little. "No celebratory steak dinner? You really are a little bitch." 

Sam shoves Dean lightly, kisses him again right after, murmurs, "Takes one to know one, you fucking jerk," right into his mouth.


End file.
